


a piece of ice held fast in the fist

by Chash



Series: love it is, then [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 11:57:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6327898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke's graduating in two months, so she's not looking for a relationship. Not that she was looking for a relationship before, but now she's <i>really</i> not looking.</p><p>But, honestly. Bellamy's just so hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a piece of ice held fast in the fist

As far as Clarke is concerned, there isn't really a worse time to develop feelings for someone than the last two months of senior year of college. It's a global belief, one that she thinks all her friends should share, but it's particularly true for her, Monty, and Raven, because they've basically moved on with their lives, honestly. There are still classes to finish and finals to pass, but the three of them already know exactly where they're going and even have jobs lined up, because they're awesome. Okay, it's all vaguely terrifying, but still. College feels like it's all wrapped up, so she really doesn't understand why Monty has any interest in dating right now. She's so done.

"Because you weren't out of the dating game before this," Raven says, with a roll of her eyes. Raven isn't actually attempting to date anyone herself, but Wells is going to live with them in Chicago, so Clarke is pretty sure she's waiting for graduation too. In her own way. She was counting Raven as on her side, but apparently she was wrong.

"Yeah, that's true," Monty says. "This is just your latest excuse."

"It's not an excuse," Clarke says. When they both look at her, she adds, "Really!"

"Uh huh." Raven cocks her head. "When's the last time you even _considered_ going on a date?"

The first person Clarke dated in college was a guy named Finn freshman year, and it had gone pretty well, up until the point she found out he had another girlfriend (Raven), and they'd both dumped him. She'd managed occasional dates and hookups for the rest of the year, but nothing that came close to sticking.

Her next serious thing had been the next year, when Lexa spent about a month telling Clarke all the reasons relationships were a bad idea, until she kissed her out of nowhere, which, in retrospect, should have been a warning sign. But Clarke had liked her, and she figured she could do kind of casual, if that was what Lexa was looking for.

As it turned out, not only could Clarke not do casual, but that wasn't what Lexa was looking for. So it was good, until Lexa's ex-girlfriend got back from study abroad at the start of Clarke's junior year, and it turned out Lexa's whole bitterness thing had been about her, and she'd never totally gotten over her, and suddenly they were together again and Clarke was left alone.

She hadn't meant to give up on dating; she just never got around to being interested in anyone else, after that. She'd slept with a few people over the course of her junior year, but she has, admittedly, been single and celibate for all of senior year, and she doesn't mind it. Sexuality is a constantly evolving thing; maybe hers has shifted. If she's not interested in sex or romance anymore, it doesn't strike her as a great loss. 

"It's not like I want to be dating and I'm not," Clarke tells them, truthfully. "I'm not closing myself off to relationships. I just haven't been interested in anyone in a while. Once we graduate, if anyone catches my eye, I'll go for it."

"That means you're closing yourself off to relationships before graduation," Monty says.

"I'm just saying, what if it _does_ work out with that guy you're into? What happens when we're done?"

"Email? Skype?" Monty shrugs. "Maybe we'll end up in the same place." Then he grins. "Maybe we just have some amazing sex and break up."

"And I support you," she says. "But I'm waiting to have amazing sex until after graduation."

"If you start having amazing sex after graduation, I'll eat my hat," Raven grumbles, and Clarke pecks her on the cheek.

"You don't have a hat. But if I start having amazing sex, I'll buy you one to eat."

*

She's still thinking about the conversation when she gets to work, less because she's upset about her own lack of romantic life and more because she really _is_ worried that Monty is going to get his heart broken. He's had a thing for this guy Nate from a distance for a while, but never had an excuse to talk to him. Now they're in the same philosophy class and finally interacting, which is great, except that Monty's the type to get _attached_. Which she can relate to; she always gets attached too. So she doesn't want him to start something serious now only to be hurt when it ends. But it's his call; she'll be there for him, whatever happens. It would just be nice, if she didn't have to be. 

A knock on the doorjamb startles her from her thoughts, and she looks up with a distant, polite smile. Time to do her job.

Clarke works three nights a week at the student writing center, which isn't bad, as student employment goes. It's pretty dead mostly, so she has time to do her own reading or schoolwork, and when people do come in, it's really pretty fun. Reading papers and giving feedback can be both interesting and rewarding, if the person isn't a dick about listening to her, and she likes being exposed to new subjects.

The guy in the door looks a little sheepish, which is a good sign. And he's cute, she can't help noticing. Messy black hair, dark eyes, glasses sliding down his nose, freckles. 

_Very_ cute.

"Hey, sorry, am I interrupting something?"

Clarke gives him a smile. "Oh yeah, definitely. Here I was, busy zoning out, and you want me to do my job."

"Well, now I feel like an asshole," he says, laughing.

"As you should." She jerks her head. "Come on in, close the door if you don't want people hearing about the paper."

He closes the door and comes over, taking the seat next to her. He has even more freckles up close, and a scar on his lip. She doesn't really think it's an issue, not until he extends his hand in greeting. "Hi, I'm Bellamy, and I suck at English."

When she touches his hand, it's fucking _electric_. He's not a particularly big guy overall, not that tall even if he is pretty built, but he has these giant, warm hands, rough with calluses, and Clarke has a sudden, instant flash of _want_ , like she hasn't felt in _years_. She's never been a big believer in love at first sight, but--lust at first touch is apparently a thing for her now. There's no other explanation.

"Nice to meet you," she manages, hoping she's not blushing. "I'm Clarke. You suck at English?"

He shrugs, leans over to grab something from his bag. Clarke tries not to notice the curve of his back and the way his shirt pulls up slightly, totally fails. And, seriously, since when are these _things_ for her? Maybe Raven's right, and she actually does need to get laid. She's checking out a stranger's _back_.

"I'm a history major," he says. "I'm not bad at mechanics? My grammar's decent and I know how to put together an argument. But--jesus, I'm lost with deeper meanings. My prof keeps saying my papers are technically fine but not very--" He makes a face. "Just assume I think a cigar is always a cigar. There's a reason I put off finishing this part of my graduation requirements until senior spring."

Clarke tries not to smile, but he's looking amused too, so she gives in and laughs. "Sorry," she adds, without contrition. "That's just not what I usually get."

"Yeah? What do you usually get?"

"Freshmen who haven't written serious papers at all before," she says, counting off on her fingers. "Students whose profs require them to come, which can go fine or really badly, if they're convinced they're good writers and this is just a formality and I have negative feedback for them. A lot of ESL students, that's are always really interesting. A good deal of people who just want another set of eyes and some reassurance." She considers him, trying to ignore the disconcerting urge to ask if he wants to make out. She's _working_. This is serious. "You know we don't really do content, right?"

"Yeah, I know. I haven't come by before, but I did my research." His tongue darts out to wet his lips. "I assume you can tell me where my argument is thin and where I'm not supporting my claims enough? And, like--general feedback?"

"Without going into specifics, yeah."

"Believe me when I say I need all the help I can get," he says. "I'm not expecting you to rework my thesis for me or anything, but any information you can give me about why it sucks would be great."

"As long as you're keeping your expectations realistic," she says, flipping through the paper. It looks pretty normal, five-pages, double-spaced, her bread and butter, as a tutor. "Can I write on this?"

"Whatever you want, yeah."

"You can hang out or just check back in twenty minutes or so, up to you."

"Here's good." He finds a worn book in his bag and flashes her a bright, white grin. "That way I get to witness your horrified reactions in real time."

"I promise you I've seen worse," she says. "I can already see you've got your paper formatted correctly and you aren't using fifteen-point font and triple spacing to make it look longer."

"Shit, I've got to up my game."

"Yeah, good writing and bad content really is amateur hour."

"Next time," he says, and settles in to read.

Ordinarily, Clarke doesn't much mind people sticking around while she edits their papers. It's nice if she has an immediate question, and if she finishes early, she's not just stuck waiting around for them to come back. But Bellamy is a fucking distraction. He's stupidly pretty, and his hands turning the pages of his book are somehow really, really hot. Plus he keeps fidgeting with his pen, and between tapping it on his jaw and holding it in his mouth when he's doing something else, it's very hard to _not_ look at his lips. It's like the last year of not having sex is catching up with her all at once. She was not prepared.

Plus, his self-assessment was right on the mark. He's a talented writer, knows how to put together an argument and keep his audience interested, even when he's obviously less than comfortable with the material. Because, of course, it wouldn't be enough for him to be attractive and charming. He has to be smart and articulate too.

But the paper itself really does need work, and that's what saves her. Once she gets in the editing zone, everything else falls away. 

His thesis is somehow both too broad and too narrow, and while he's done pretty well covering what's in the poems, he talks around making any real _points_. The paper is a quick, engaging read, but by the end, Clarke realizes he hasn't really said anything at all. He's just very skillfully talked around the fact that he doesn't know what he's doing. It's impressive, but she's not really surprised his prof is calling him out on it.

"Do you have the assignment?" she asks, once she finishes her first read through.

"Uh, yeah, one sec." He roots through his bag again, finds a syllabus and flips through it to the relevant page. He circles it and hands it over to Clarke. "Professor Kane tends to go kind of vague, which didn't help."

"Oh, this is Kane? Yeah, that sounds like the kind of _you're not living up to your potential_ feedback he'd give."

Bellamy snorts. "Friend of yours?"

"I took a couple classes with him." 

The assignment is pretty standard Kane: _Choose two works from the "Season of Mists and Mellow Fruitfulness" reading list. Compare and contrast them._

"How bad is it?" Bellamy asks.

"The assignment or your paper?"

"Both."

She smiles. "It's not bad. But--let's just talk for a little first, okay?"

"Wow, that isn't ominous at all," he grumbles, but he closes his book and gives her a dazzling smile. "Hit me."

"Why did you pick this class?"

"Jesus, it's _that_ bad?"

"I'm just curious. You know there are a lot of English classes that are just--" She worries her lip. "Non-major English classes. This is definitely a real class. So if you just wanted to finish your requirements, why did you pick this one?"

He looks like he's really thinking it over, catching his bottom lip in his teeth.

Focused. Clarke is _focused_. On the conversation.

"My little sister's in high school," he says, finally. "She's really into creative writing. She, uh--she entered this poetry contest in the fall and won? And I read her stuff, obviously, and I really liked it, but--I don't know shit about poetry written after the fall of the Roman Empire. So I figured I could take a class and get some background. And my best friend is an English major, he really likes Professor Kane. So this one seemed good." His expression is vaguely defensive. "It is an intro course."

She honestly can't remember the last time she smiled this much at a stranger. "Okay, that makes sense. And why did you pick these two poems to write about? It sounds like you had a bunch of options."

"They were my favorites, I guess. I like, uh--" He grins. "Don't tell my sister this, but I do better with poems that rhyme. Like I said, my main familiarity with poetry is Latin stuff, so I'm used to looking at meter and word order. Housman and Frost both have pretty obvious structure, so that feels like my, uh--if I've got a poetry comfort zone, that's it. Which I guess isn't the best basis for comparing them."

"I wish everyone who came in here was this self-aware."

He sighs and leans back in the chair, closing his eyes. "I try to be realistic about my failings as a person."

"Okay, then, honesty time: your thesis sucks, and your support for it is ninety-percent bullshit."

He laughs, a delighted sound. "Yup. Ninety seems generous, honestly."

"So let's just talk basic logistics. You're comparing and contrasting two poems, right?"

"Right."

"Don't overthink it. You're definitely too in your head about what English papers should be, so you've got this paper that's trying to cover up the fact that you don't know what to say with a bunch of words. I'd worry I was offending you, but I'm pretty sure none of this is news," she adds, at his raised eyebrows.

"It's not," he agrees. "So, what should I be doing?"

"Five paragraph thesis essay, right? Basic high-school shit."

"Right."

"When's it due?"

"Friday."

"Okay, so. Introduction. Don't write that yet. Three supporting paragraphs. First one, talk about the Housman. Second one, talk about the Frost. Third, look at your first and second paragraphs, talk about what's the same and what's different. Then write an introduction and conclusion that support whatever you said."

"That's it?"

Clarke considers. "That depends."

"On what?"

"How much time you have and how much you care about the paper."

"Let's assume this is kind of a matter of honor for me now."

"I thought it might be." She taps her pen on his paper. "So, I don't really do outlines? I usually just start writing and see what I end up saying, and then once I know, I rewrite the whole thing using that knowledge. What I just told you is a pretty good way to get to that point. For that one, you write the conclusion at the end, and then you revise it a little and use it as the introduction to your new paper. But that's if you've got time, and you feel like you actually came up with something good to _say_. Which is your problem here."

"Sound and fury, signifying nothing?" he supplies, and she laughs.

"I thought you weren't an English person."

"No, but my best friend is, like I said. He's a drama geek." He glances at his paper. "So, why did you write notes?"

"Just in case you didn't want to completely rewrite. But you struck me as the complete rewrite type. You've got some good ideas in here, but I think you'd do better just starting over without looking at what I wrote."

He nods. "Thanks." And then he adds, "So, are all the writing tutors tough-love assholes, or did I luck out?"

"I try to cater the experience to what I think the client is looking for," Clarke says, straight-faced, and he grins.

"You are incredibly good at your job." He wets his lips. "So, uh, do you work just on Tuesdays, or--"

"Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday."

"Cool. Is it creepy if I come back on Thursday and make you validate that my new paper is better?"

"Am I involved in your whole matter of honor thing now?" 

"Just a little bit. But if it's creepy--"

"It's my job," she says, and then feels kind of bad. So she smiles and adds, "I work eight to eleven. Come back any time."

"Cool. Thanks, Clarke. I really appreciate it."

"Just doing my part to make you less shitty at English."

"Yeah, I need all the help I can get." 

He offers his hand again, and Clarke has the same stupid, bright burst of attraction at the touch of his skin, the feel of his hand on hers. It's the first time she's ever felt an actual _spark_ with someone.

Graduation is in a month and a half. Now is not the time to be developing a thing for a cute boy. There will be plenty of cute boys and girls in Chicago. This one is nothing special.

"Good luck with the paper," she tells him.

"Thanks. Maybe I'll see you on Thursday. If I actually manage to make it better."

"So, you'll come to the writing center only if your paper doesn't need the help?"

"Doesn't really restore my honor if it's still shitty," he says, not unreasonably. "Have a good night, Clarke."

"You too," she says, and then, once she's alone, puts her head down on the table. " _Fuck_."

*

The problem is, Clarke _sucks_ at crushes. Wells has told her that she becomes kind of creepy about them, which she thinks is an overstatement, but at the same time, Wells is generally smart and fair, so she should maybe trust his judgement over her own. Clarke just happens to be good at arranging her life to see people, given a minimal amount of information. So back in high school, she'd manage to just happen to be where Niylah was a lot, and Wells would roll his eyes and tell her that she should just use her words and stop being a creepy stalker.

So if Clarke wanted to date Bellamy Blake, she thinks she could probably figure it out. And this time last year, she probably would have. But given she's already said, on numerous occasions, that she isn't looking for anything right now and thinks anyone who _is_ trying to find a meaningful relationship so close to graduation is making a mistake, if she even hints at being interested in getting to know a hot history major, everyone will (rightfully) tease her to hell and back.

Which means that nothing is going to happen. She was attracted to a cute stranger, and that's the end of it. In a way, it's good to know that attraction to cute strangers is still something she experiences, because it really had been a while, and she thought maybe it wasn't going to happen again. That she'd just moved past the sexual attraction part of her life. Which would have been fine by her, but--she did used to like sex. Before it started feeling like more trouble than it was worth. 

But no, mystery solved. She's still experiencing sexual attraction. She might be pickier than she used to be, but once she graduates, she will probably at some point meet someone who makes her interested in sex again, and maybe even interested in relationships again. It's a useful data point. That's all.

She tells herself that and tries to make herself believe it, but she still spends Thursday twitching with stupid anticipation. She'd probably enjoy it, if she wasn't trying so hard _not_ to care about the whole thing. But this is her favorite stage of crushes (which is not what this is), the early giddiness, the excitement of liking someone new, the possibility of getting to see them.

So, of course, he doesn't actually show up, and she has to deal with being disappointed about it, and spend her entire shift wondering _why_ he didn't come, and if he'll maybe come back next Thursday. She saw his syllabus; Kane has them on a paper a week, so he'll have plenty more opportunities to stop by. If he wants to. Obviously she doesn't care.

Really.

She's still in a bad mood about the whole thing on Saturday, when Monty sticks his head into her dorm and says, "Are you going to murder someone if we go to a party?"

It's impossible to be mad at Monty. Especially when her anger is directed, broadly, at the whole world, and he is completely blameless. "Depends who's at the party."

"It's Nate's housemate's birthday. He brought it up and told me to stop by if I wasn't busy, so--"

"So obviously we have to go."

Monty slants a look at her. "You're not going to tell me that I should just wait until after graduation for sex?"

"I've made my point. Your decisions are your own business from now on. Is Raven coming?"

"No, she's coding again. She said she'd try to come if she finished, but you know how she is. So if you don't come, I'm flying solo, and I know you're not that cruel."

"I'm not. Is there a theme? Do I have to throw together a costume?"

"According to Nate, the theme is _drunk and disorderly_."

"At least you never ask me to go to bad parties," she decides. "Give me ten minutes."

Nate apparently lives off-campus in a small, one-story house. There's already a crowd of people on the lawn, doing kegstands and generally living up to the party theme, so Clarke assumes it'll get shut down in the next hour. Which coincides with when she wanted to leave anyway, so that's fine.

They stop by the keg for beers and Monty tells Clarke over the general noise that Nate said he'd be inside with the video games.

The house itself is mostly deserted, probably because they don't have AC and the air is sticky, but Clarke prefers that to the yard. She can only take so much noise and dancing before she starts wanting to kick people, and she's already in a bad mood. Video games and beer sound much safer.

Monty has a sixth sense for where video games are, so he leads them to the living room with unerring precision, and Clarke's heart stops as soon as they get there, because Bellamy is there on the couch, telling someone named Miller to suck it.

"You're a fucking cheat, Blake," says the guy next to him, glaring and throwing his controller to someone else.

"Yeah, nothing says cheating like _being better than you_ ," Bellamy says, grinning. "Sorry, did you want me to go easy on you?"

The guy rolls his eyes. "Whatever, I'm getting more beer. You want anything?"

"Yeah, I--Clarke!" he says, suddenly, catching sight of her. His smile is huge. "Hey! You want in on this?" he adds. "Miller's leaving."

"Um," Clarke says, glancing at Monty, but he seems to be having an eyebrow-based conversation with the guy Bellamy was trash-talking. And then the guy gets up to join Monty, leaving the spot next to Bellamy free, and Clarke would be an asshole to not go sit with him, given he asked and Miller is probably Nate, and Monty will want to be alone with him.

The guy on the other side of the couch has already stretched out to cover half the cushion Nate abandoned; Clarke can't tell if he's trying to wingman Bellamy or is just kind of an asshole, but she has no real choice but to press in against his side. He smells like beer and weed, and her skin burns everywhere they're touching.

"Hi," she says.

"Hey."

She glances over and sees that Monty has disappeared. "Was that Nate?"

"Nathan Miller, yeah. Monty?"

"Yup."

"Awesome." He smiles at her, looking a little embarrassed, and she smiles back helplessly. She wasn't even _trying_. "So, is it weird if I apologize for not showing up on Thursday?"

"I just assumed your paper still sucked and you were too embarrassed to show me," she teases.

"Good guess, but no. I was actually really happy with how it turned out. You helped a lot."

"Dude, you gonna play or flirt?" asks the guy on the other side of the couch. "Pick your character."

"Flirt," Bellamy says, unrepentant, and pauses before he hands off the controller. "Unless you want to play," he says, offering it to Clarke.

It sounds safer than being flirted with. "Are you going to be offended if I say yes?"

"Nope. Go ahead."

Clarke's pretty good at Smash Brothers, and it's only a little distracting to try to play tucked against Bellamy, his laughter rumbling against her side, his shoulder pushing against hers when they're both playing at the same time.

He's not even really flirting that much; it doesn't make her want him any less.

Monty and Nate wander back in with more beer, and Monty's the fucking _best_ at Smash Brothers, so there's a lot of general yelling and trash-talking and fun after that. Clarke could imagine doing this a lot more, hanging out with these people, yelling and teasing, with Bellamy pressed against her side.

Then Raven shows up, and Clarke remembers that she's basically snuggling with a very pretty guy who's already admitted he's flirting with her. Which means she should definitely move, but it's too late.

Monty must have _texted her_. The traitor.

Bellamy grins. "Hey, Raven!"

"Yo," she says. She kicks the guy who's taking up half the couch. "Move, Murphy."

"Jesus, I thought you stopped coming here once you and Blake stopped fucking," the guy grumbles. He scoots over, and Bellamy puts his arm around Clarke to tug her even closer, making room for Raven.

"We slept together once," he remarks. "If she'd stopped coming by after that, you never would have met her."

Clarke raises her eyebrows at Raven, and Raven pats her leg. "Freshman year, my Finn rebound. No big deal. Now I just use them for free beer and video game."

"Oh."

Bellamy disentangles his arm and gives his controller to Raven. "Monty needs to be stopped."

"Clearly," says Raven. "You're not just hitting on my best friend."

"I can hit on her while we're playing," he says, easy. "I'm multi-talented."

"I'm getting a drink," Clarke declares, shoving her controller at Murphy. "Anyone else want anything?"

Raven gives her a completely unimpressed look, and Clarke knows she deserves it. But--it's way too much right now. She needs fresh air.

She goes out the back, where it's less crowded, and takes a few deep breaths. There's no good reason to be anxious. There isn't. So Raven's here and thinks she was flirting with Bellamy, and Bellamy's definitely flirting with her, and she was thinking about trying to sleep with him, just because she's been turned on ever since she sat down with him, and all she really wants is to shove him down and ride him. And he seems like he'd probably be happy to oblige her.

But now Raven's here, and Raven would never let her live it down, so--fine. That's good. It would have been a mistake anyway.

"Um," she hears, and of course it's Bellamy, looking sheepish. "Sorry, I just wanted to check on you, but I'll leave, I--"

She shakes her head, even smiles. He's done absolutely nothing wrong. "It's okay."

He leans against the wall next to her, radiating heat. "So, uh--I can stop hitting on you. But if it's about Raven, it was one time, three years ago. She's awesome, don't get me wrong, but--"

"I'm not supposed to be looking for anything," Clarke says.

There's a pause, and then he says, "Okay. That's cool. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Clarke leans against his side. "I would have told you to stop. Raven just reminded me that--I'm not looking. Monty definitely texted her to come make fun of me."

"So--okay," he says, slow. "I think you're awesome, I like you, I want to make out, or be friends. Or make out and be friends. Thoughts?"

She wets her lips. It is a _shitty_ idea. But Raven is already going to assume something happened. "This is your house, right?"

"Yeah."

"So, you have a room?"

"Yeah."

"Want to show me?"

He laughs. "Definitely, come on."

She texts Raven _SHUT UP_ as she follows him, and Raven responds, _dude in what world would I think this is a bad idea? get some. get A LOT_

"So I'm not looking to date right now," she says.

"Yeah, I got that," says Bellamy. "But making out is on the table, right?"

She tugs him down to her, and his mouth slants over hers, surprisingly gentle. He's trying to go slow, but Clarke wants him so much it's unreal, and she takes control, kissing him like she's fucking _drowning_.

He laughs softly against her mouth. "At some point, I really want to find out what's going on with your personal life."

"At some point. But for now--you're hot, okay?" 

"Thanks."

She slides her hands under his shirt and pulls it off, and he grins, anchoring his hands on her hips. "I was pretty disappointed when you didn't show up on Thursday." It feels like a huge admission.

He kisses her again. "Sorry. Family emergency."

"Oh."

"My sister needed a ride," he admits. "Not a _big_ emergency, but--" He pauses, laughs and tugs her toward his bed. "Can we not talk about this right now, actually?"

Clarke laughs, and then shivers as his hands slide under her shirt, up her back. "Talking is overrated," she says.

He tugs her shirt off too, kisses her long and wet and hot. "I like talking," he murmurs, trailing his mouth down her neck. "Don't you want to hear exactly what I'm going to do to you?"

She lets out the most embarrassing noise, because between his hands and his voice, it's just too much. She's not sure she's ever been so wet in her life, which--she didn't think she did casual, but apparently she can if the guy is the actual hottest person she has ever met.

"Yeah," she breathes, and he pushes her onto his bed. 

"What do you like?"

"Everything." And then, because she might as well get what she wants, "Your hands are amazing."

"So's my dick," he says, grinning, but he pushes her bra up and gropes her, rough skin of his palms perfect on her breasts, fingers finding her nipples. She manages to drag him on top of her, enough that she can rub up against his thigh, desperate. His laugh is rough, right against her neck, and she has to whimper. "Okay, yeah, my hands. Got it."

"Nothing against your dick," she manages. "Looking forward to that too."

"I'm amazed I heard any of the awesome shit you said about my paper, considering I spent the whole time you were talking reminding myself not to look down your shirt." He bites her shoulder. "In a respectful way."

"Don't worry about it," she says. "I was having non-stop inappropriate thoughts."

"Cool," he says, pressing his thigh against her. "So, I'm guessing you want me to finger you."

"For a start."

He laughs, tugs her skirt and underwear down and off. "Good, because I want to eat you out too."

"And fuck me. I hear good things about your dick."

"And fuck you," he agrees. "Minimum three orgasms, guaranteed."

She's going to respond, but he slides his hand between her legs, fingers sliding against her clit, and her ability to form coherent sentences is gone.

"Jesus," he murmurs, kissing her jaw. "You're so wet. God, I was really fucking hoping, but--you were thinking about this the whole time we were playing?"

"Yeah."

"Me too." 

He catches her mouth for another warm kiss, moving his fingers down, inside her, and swallowing her moans. It's not like Clarke _hasn't_ been getting herself off recently, but it was nothing like this. She might always get what she wants with her vibrator, but there's no substitute for a real person kissing her, someone else's fingers arching inside her, finding her g-spot, and--

"Fuck," she gasps against his mouth, and he doesn't relent at all. 

"If I start eating you out, are you going to stay quiet, or do I need to cover your mouth?"

"Everyone knows what we're doing," she says, breathless. "But--you could just cover my mouth anyway. If you wanted."

He gives her a quick peck. "Yeah, I've got some ideas."

She comes for the second time with his tongue inside her and his fingers in her mouth, and she actually whimpers when he slides them out. 

"Need a condom," he says. "I promise you can suck my fingers as much as you want."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," she mutters. She didn't even know that was a kink for her, but--fuck. 

"You're right, I might want to kiss you some more," he teases, rolling off her. She realizes belatedly he never even got his shorts off, and she watches as he finds a condom and gets undressed. She can see his dick, standing out huge and hard as soon as he slides his boxers off. "Still want me to fuck you?" he asks, like he really isn't sure.

"Please," she says, and he does kiss her again, deep and warm, with more affection than she knows how to deal with.

But he fucks her hard, just what she needs, so fucking _good_. It's everything she's been missing about sex, even when she wasn't really missing sex, and she thinks she might actually come twice more before he finally does. She honestly loses track at some point in there, he's so good.

Raven's known this guy for _years_ , why is she just finding out about him? She could have--they could have been something.

It's like cold water when she thinks it, totally ruining the nice, warm afterglow of being curled in his arms, and she rolls away, looking for her skirt. 

"You don't have to leave," he says, bed creaking as he moves. He sounds sleepy and confused, and she can't look at him.

"I should."

There's a pause, and then he says, "Uh, I know you're not looking for anything. But if you change your mind, let me know. Or if you want to do this again."

Clarke feels a lump form in her throat, and she leans down to kiss him just because she can't _not_. "And if you need paper help, I still work Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday."

"Cool," he says. He worries his lip, and Clarke thinks he might try to talk her into staying one more time, but instead he gets out of bed himself and pulls on his own shorts. "I'll walk you back."

"You don't have to."

"It's late," he says, and throws her her shirt. "If Raven and Monty are still around they can take you, but--"

It's the kind of thing she _gets_ , and if anything happened to her he'd feel awful, so she just nods.

"Thanks."

She expects him to ask why she's not looking for anything, but he starts telling her about his thesis, which is almost done, and his other classes and his sister. She's eighteen and apparently in a constant state of warfare with their mother, which was where he'd ended up on Thursday, driving out to talk to her after a bad fight.

"Wow," says Clarke.

"What?"

"I don't know, just--that's a lot." She grins. "And if you have a car, why are you walking me home?"

He considers, and then shrugs. "Because it takes longer. And I'm still kind of drunk."

"Oh."

"You're cool," he says. "You're not closed for friendship, right?"

"No."

"Then, yeah. Mostly because it takes longer."

She kisses him on the cheek when they get to the door. "Thanks," she says. "For an awesome night."

"Happy to help," he says. "See you on Tuesday."

She watches him go until she can't see him anymore, and her bed feels tiny and empty when she finally climbs into it.

But it's the right decision. It has to be. 

*

"So, Bellamy, huh?"

Clarke doesn't look at Raven. "He's hot, and if you slept with him, I figured he must be good--"

"Clarke."

"It was fun."

"You should go out with him. Don't be stubborn, okay? He's a good guy."

"He is."

Raven groans. "Jesus, Clarke. Fucking seriously. It's not like Chicago is some remote village in the middle of nowhere. It's the closest big city. Plenty of people are going there. And we've got a month and a half before classes end, even if _he's_ going to some remote village." She pauses. "Plus, he was looking at you like you're the best thing he's ever seen in his entire life. You're smart. Don't be an idiot about this."

Clarke opens and closes her mouth and finally says, "Are you still just planning to marry Wells when we get to Chicago?"

"Hell no," says Raven. "I'm going to make him work for it first." And then of course, "Seriously. I don't know why I never thought about introducing you guys before, but as soon as I saw you hanging out, it clicked. So--you said you weren't closing yourself off to dating. _Don't_."

"It's stupid, though."

Raven rolls her eyes. "Fuck, what's stupider? Missing out on two great months and the possibility of more because you might-- _might_ \--have an expiration date, or having a relationship that ends? Most relationships end, Clarke. That's not a problem."

"Good pep talk," Clarke says, because she doesn't actually have any kind of counterargument.

"That's not a _yes, I'll talk to Bellamy_ ," Raven grumbles.

"Yeah, but it's not a no, so--that's better than I was expecting you to do."

Raven snorts. "You're a mess, seriously."

"Love you too."

*

Bellamy _does_ show up on Tuesday, just after eight. "I brought my history paper so I can show you the normal quality of my work. I hear my honor's on the line."

Clarke wants to say that she has no reaction to him, but instead she has a vivid flashback to his tongue on her clit and his fingers in her mouth. His hair is a mess and his glasses are crooked and she still wants to make out with him a lot. Apparently actually doing that didn't solve the problem.

"So, you brought me a paper you don't want feedback on to impress me?"

"And a paper I want feedback on." He pauses. "And, you know, if you've got feedback on the history paper, I'll take it. I just want you to see me in my element."

"So if I hate this paper, we stop being friends?"

"Just if you hate it for the wrong reasons. Like I said, feedback is welcome." He pulls out another paper. "And here's the poetry one. I put the assignments for both at the top."

She has to laugh. "Wow, coming prepared."

"Well, it's less impressive if I'm not."

She expects him to say something else, but he just pulls out his laptop and starts working, like they do this all the time.

At some point, she assumes he'll ask her about her dating thing, because--he wants to date her. It's really obvious. And it makes something squirm low in her stomach, the sure knowledge that if she just said, _Do you want to get dinner sometime_ , he'd say yes.

His history paper really is good, just as engaging and technically proficient as his poetry paper was, but more confident and persuasive. In his element, like he said.

"Caught some awkward phrasing, but that's more style than anything," she says, not looking at him as she passes the essay back. "It's really good."

"Cool, thanks."

"When do you make me read your thesis?"

"Never," he says, and she's almost hurt until he adds, "I would never force my thesis on you. That one you read by choice. Because we're friends."

She grins. "So that's your long game here?"

His smile is wryer. "Sure, we can go with that. I have a lot of goals." Then he clears his throat. "Uh, in the interest of full disclosure, I asked Raven about you."

"Oh fuck."

"Wow. I was just trying to be, you know. Not a dick about it." But he's grinning. "I figured you were up front about what you were looking for, but--yeah. I asked her anyway. Sorry."

"What did she say?"

"There was a lot of profanity involved."

"Sounds right."

"Like I said, I'm interested," he says. "But I'm not hanging around just because I think you're cute." He pauses, but then adds, "And, you know, the awesome sex."

"Awesome sex," she agrees. "I'll, um--I know why you're hanging out. And you should keep doing it. I'll keep you posted."

He nods. "Cool. Now tell me my English paper is a lot better than the last one."

It is a huge improvement, even if it's not at the level of his history paper. But he's figured out a real angle and is making and defending an argument, instead of trying to come across like he knows more than he does. He's even chosen to write about a poem that doesn't rhyme, which Clarke teases him about, and he grins.

"Latin poetry doesn't _rhyme_ ," he says. "There are other literary devices it uses."

"So how are you good at Latin poetry and shitty at English poetry?"

"I focused on the translation, not the content," he says. "Using Latin to support my readings is easier than using English. Plus, all the symbolism was history- and mythology-based. And I never said I was _good_ at Latin poetry. I just figured out how to get a five on the AP exam."

"Mercenary."

"Basically." He cocks his head at her. "I don't even know what you're studying. English?"

"Art history."

"What do you want to do with that?"

"What do you want to do with history?" she shoots back, teasing.

"Academia. I'm getting my PhD."

"Yeah?"

"Yup."

"Like, immediately?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Am I not supposed to?"

"Most people I know who want to do grad school are waiting a couple years, until they realize the real world sucks and miss school."

He considers, looking at his laptop. "I grew up poor. Like, really poor. The only reason I'm here is scholarships and financial aid. My mom met a guy sophomore year, he's actually well-off and treats her right, so--it's a lot better now. He got me the computer, and he's helping O out with her tuition, so--yeah. It's not like it was, but I know exactly how bad the real world is."

"Oh."

He gives her another wry smile. "Sorry, too much?"

"No, it just explains some stuff about your honor thing."

"Yeah, I hear I have fascinating psychology. According to my ex-boyfriend."

"Congrats."

He nudges her. "You can tell me something overly personal about yourself. It'll make you feel better."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely."

She considers. "Dead father?"

"Slightly awkward."

"Only slightly?"

"Eh, mine's dead too, so it's not like you're that special."

It gets a laugh out of her. "I think I'm probably not at your level, yeah." She bites her lip. "Raven slept with you because this guy was dating both of us, and we found out. And then I had this girlfriend who screwed me up pretty badly." For the first time, she lets herself add, "But I think I'm screwed up more than I should be."

"I didn't know there was an accepted standard of how screwed up to be about stuff," he says, careful. "What did she do?"

"We were in a psych class together. She was a psych major, I was just kind of curious. She kind of--she took me under her wing, I guess. Spent a month making arguments about why relationships were a bad idea and how love is stupid and--it sounded good to me, she really sold it. And then she made a move."

"Huh. That seems like a weird seduction technique to me."

"I don't think she did it on purpose," Clarke admits. "But--it made me feel like an exception, yeah. Like I was special. And then her ex-girlfriend came back and they got back together and I just sort of stopped wanting to date."

"I can see that, yeah." He grins. "At least it's not personal."

"Oh fuck," she says, hit with sudden, stupid insight.

"What?"

"I'm doing the same thing."

"Uh, you've explicitly said you _don't_ want to date me. And you seem fine with relationships generally, so, yeah. You're fine. I wanted to sleep with you, even if it didn't go anywhere. Not my first choice, but I knew what I was getting into." He pauses and adds, "I got the sense you were figuring stuff out. And you're keeping me posted. I don't mind."

For a minute, Clarke just wants to climb into his lap and never leave. Instead, she says, "Where are you going to grad school?"

"Northwestern." When she fails to respond, he continues, "Officially, it's a great school and I got an amazing financial aid package. Unofficially, my sister is going to U of Illinois in Chicago and I'm an overprotective dick."

Clarke still can't quite breathe. It was such a good reason to not date him. Losing it feels like getting punched in the gut with possibilities, and she doesn't know how to deal with it at all.

"As long as you're honest about it," she manages. "Write your thesis. I want to read it."

He grins. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're a pretty decent writer."

This time, his smile is softer, and he ducks his head. 

They'll be in the same place in a few months, and she's been hiding for a year.

"Thanks," he says, and she completely fails to pay attention to anything but his fingers on the keyboard until the end of her shift.

*

"Did you know where he was going?" Clarke asks, flopping back onto Raven's bed. They're not roommates, but they have singles across from each other.

"Who?"

"Bellamy."

"I still don't know where he's going. I can't tell if it's Chicago and you're upset or if it's not Chicago and you're upset. Jesus, you're a fucking mess."

"I really am," she admits. "He's going to Northwestern for grad school."

"And you freaked out and ran away?"

"No, but I didn't tell him I'm going to be there and I didn't ask him if he wanted to make out."

Raven flops down on the bed next to her. "Are we finally going to talk about this? I've got, like, outlines written for this conversation."

Smiling, Clarke curls into her side. "I had no idea."

"Honestly? I was pissed at you, for a while. I couldn't tell how much was Finn and how much was Lexa. But I decided it's mostly you, so that helped."

"Oh good, I'm glad I'm the problem."

"Shut up, it's going to be nice." There's a pause, and finally she admits, "I felt like you were more upset about Finn than I was, and that hurt. He was mine first, and he was all I had. I knew you liked him, but--"

"He definitely meant more to you than he did to me," Clarke says, looking up at her. "I never thought he didn't. I never wanted to make that about me."

"I know. We deal with shit differently. It's cool. I figured it out. When stuff goes bad, you want to avoid it. But you actually suck at it, so you end up doing shit like this."

"Shit like this?"

"You like a guy, he likes you, and you guys are going the same place after graduation. And you're fucking _upset about it_." Raven flicks her in the forehead, affectionate. "Are your diamond shoes too tight too?"

"Shut up. You're not dating Wells yet."

"I'll call him up and ask him out right now if you want." She pauses. "He lives an hour away and I don't have a car. That's why I'm waiting. But if he was here and we only had two months? I'd make the most of the two months. That's the difference between you and me. But Bellamy's here now and he's not going anywhere, so--"

"What did you tell him when he asked about me?"

"That you're kind of a dumbass, but worth it."

"Thanks."

"I meant it." She pauses. "I don't know him as well, but--he's probably worth it too."

Clarke closes her eyes. "Yeah. I think he is."

*

On Thursday, Bellamy doesn't have a paper, but he shows up and unpacks his laptop anyway.

"I figure you can kick me out if anyone needs real help. But I can read you excerpts from my thesis."

"You're making this sound really appealing," Clarke says, pretending it's a lie. He's wearing a black t-shirt and cargo shorts, his shaggy hair falling in his eyes, his glasses still slipping down his face. 

She wants to see so much more of him.

"My thesis is awesome, Clarke. You should be honored."

"Very honored." She gives it a second and puts her feet in his lap. 

All he does is smile and pat her ankle.

When a freshman shows up, he leaves, true to his word, and comes back once the room is clear again. He reads her paragraphs from his thesis that need work and drums his fingers on her ankle, chews on his pen and texts his sister and rants about how he shouldn't have ever agreed to live with Murphy, because they're going to kill each other.

"I'm going to be in Chicago next year too," she blurts out, fifteen minutes before the end of her shift.

He's unruffled. "Yeah, I heard from Miller. Monty mentioned it."

"That was my excuse for not dating. Replacing _I'm busy with school_."

"Now you lost me."

"Getting into a relationship with less than two months of school left just seemed stupid to me. Not much future. I told everyone how stupid it was."

"It doesn't need much future to be fun," he says. "But, sure. That makes sense."

She swallows hard. "But we're going to be in the same place."

"Yeah."

"So, um, you want to get dinner sometime?"

He glances around, and then leans in to kiss her, short and sweet. "Yeah. I'd really like that."

*

Friday, Wells drives down, and he follows them to Bellamy and Miller's house for video games. Bellamy's in an armchair, and Clarke sits in his lap without hesitation. One of his arms wraps around her and he kisses her temple. 

"You know we haven't been on a date yet, right?" he asks. She can feel his smile against her hair. "You're just going to sit on me? You're not even asking first?"

"Yeah, that's what's happening."

"Awesome."

Wells is watching, head cocked. Clarke is pretty sure Raven warned him, but she gets why he'd be surprised. She has been regrettably vocal about not dating. In retrospect, she might have been protesting too much.

"This is my best friend, Wells," she says. Bellamy frees one of his hands to shake Wells' hand; Wells is still just sort of squinting at them. "He's planning to live with us in Chicago."

"Wait, he's _living_ with us?" Wells asks. "Already?"

"I meant _you're_ living with us in Chicago. Bellamy and Miller have their own place."

"I thought you might have gotten shotgun married."

"It's only shotgun if she's pregnant. And her dad's dead, so unless her mom has a shotgun--"

"Definitely," says Wells, at the same time Clarke says, "I think she's got a .45."

"I suddenly feel worse about this relationship," Bellamy says, dry. "But you're not pregnant, right?"

"Fingers crossed."

His hand slides under her shirt, just enough that he can rest his palm on her side. It doesn't feel possessive, just--nice. She has a boyfriend. He likes her. She's definitely going to drag him to bed once everyone else leaves, and she's not going to go home after this time. 

It's not like they're guaranteed to last. Just because they don't have an expiration date, it doesn't mean they won't break up. They probably will. Most relationships do, after all. They might not last until graduation.

But they _could_. They could just keep going. And Clarke wouldn't mind if they did.

"So, would you still be here?" Bellamy asks later, while they watch everyone else play Smash Brothers. "If I wasn't going to be in Chicago?"

"Yeah. I just would have been stupid about it." 

"I'm excited to find out what you're like when you're not being stupid. It's gonna be cool."

"Shut up." She slides her hand over his and squeezes. "I'm glad you're going to be there."

"Yeah, me too. Seriously, I don't trust my sister alone, I'd be a nervous wreck if I was more than four hours away from her. She'd set fire to something in under ten minutes." He rubs his thumb against her hip. "But you're not a bad perk."

"Your enthusiasm is overwhelming," she says, snuggling in close.

"Well, I'm going to grad school. I figure I'm going to have a lot of papers. I could use a judgey, emotionally stunted girlfriend for a few years."

"Yeah, if that's what you're looking for, I'm your girl."

His voice is easy, just a little smug. "You're my girl. I've got next round," he adds to Miller, and Clarke settles in to watch.

Another month and a half of this, and then graduation and the real world.

She's so ready.

**Author's Note:**

> Bellamy POV [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12805521/chapters/29999625)!


End file.
